


The Man's Too Strong

by writing_and_worrying



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hopeful Ending, Jschlatt-centric, Minecraft, Nostalgia, Sad, Songfic, brief suicidal ideation and i mean brief dw, minecraft world with weird minecraft rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_and_worrying/pseuds/writing_and_worrying
Summary: Schlatt is tired. Tired, and alone.He needs to see an old friend.DISCLAIMER: I am no longer a fan of CallMeCarson due to the recent allegations that have come out. However, I will not be taking down this fic because I am proud of it as a work of fiction and I don't see why I should sacrifice my hard work for something someone else has done. This was written before the allegations came out. Please keep this in mind while reading!
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 168
Collections: Dream SMP Connected Storylines





	The Man's Too Strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idioticonion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticonion/gifts).



> I spent way too long on this! I really hope you guys like this. This is gifted to my aunt because she recommended this song to me and also wrote a cool fic that inspired this so go check that out!! Also it is 11pm and I didn't beta read this so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. This was written on a whim. Enjoy!
> 
> The title and lyrics are from 'The Man's Too Strong' by Dire Straits.

_ I'm just an aging drummer boy and in the wars I used to play _

_ And I've called the tune to many a torture session _

Schlatt was tired. 

Stacks of paperwork sat on a desk that never felt like it belonged to him, surrounding him like the walls he’d torn down. He could feel a migraine coming on, right under his horns, looping keratin splitting his skull in two. The faint smell of smoke and metal still stung the back of his throat, memories of the festival too fresh to ignore. Tomorrow, he had a meeting with Quackity, who he already knew was a traitor, but couldn’t bring himself to remove, and the fate of Manburg was still uncertain. 

For god’s sake, he needed a break. A sigh left him as he faceplanted the desk, papers flying everywhere around him. The scene felt almost cinematic, the large desk right in centre-frame, dark walls and dark floor enveloping him in a void of blue and grey. Alone. For a brief second, he thought to call Tubbo to clean the place up, then he remembered the boy wasn’t coming back, not after the festival. Not after what he did. The kid wasn’t on his side, and he never was. Right from the start, things were never going to go his way.

_ Now they say I am a war criminal and I'm fading away _

_ Father please hear my confession _

He didn’t know how it got so out of hand. A framed photo of himself and Quackity sat on the desk, taken the day he won the election—the day  _ they _ won. He’d been so happy to succeed, fair and square, for once. No tricks, no blackmail, just wit and bite and political finesse. A deal made legally. Their smiling faces made him feel sick, now, the crisp suit he wore nothing but a glowing, nauseating parody of his current untucked shit and creased trousers.

It was his own fault. Banishing Wilbur and Tommy had been a spur-of-the-moment mistake. A choice made on adrenaline and panic and fear. He’d beaten his oldest friend, taken the thing he wanted most in the world after they’d had such a hurtful goodbye, such a cold final dance. Looking into his sad, defeated eyes was too much. But it fit his character, didn’t it? Salt to a wound, tyrannical. What else did they wish? Wasn’t he living up to their expectations?

Schlatt stood from the desk, groaning when he heard his back click, little shots of pain sparking like flint against steel. The old grandfather clock in the corner looked down on him with a disappointed face, and told him he’d been sitting for three hours. That explained a lot. He needed some fresh air.

The idea of taking a walk around Manburg quickly burnt away, replaced by a familiar paranoia that hadn’t left him for weeks. Everyone was out to get him. And that wasn’t just a theory, it was proven fact. His own people hated him. Each step he took outside the confines of his office could end in assassination. He hadn’t slept in days, kept awake by the fear that someone could sneak in and shoot him like a fish in a barrel, asleep and unaware. And that would be it. This wasn’t his world, he wouldn’t come back if he died. The others could respawn. Quackity was the same, that’s why he thought he wouldn’t betray him. 

But no. Schlatt had been too callous, too cruel. He played into the character they wanted him to be, and he received nothing for it. Less than nothing. Quackity was gone, Tubbo was gone, George hadn’t spoken to him once, and Dream didn’t pick sides. Niki was planning something, she hated him from the moment he won, and Fundy… Schlatt didn’t trust the fox as far as he could throw him.

_ I have legalized robbery, called it belief _

_ I have run with the money, I have hid like a thief _

_ Rewritten history with my armies of my crooks _

_ Invented memories, I did burn all the books _

No one would side with the devil, in the end, and rightfully so. But there was always somewhere he could escape to. He walked through the halls of his office building, breathing in dusty air and trying not to feel claustrophobic with the paintings on the walls staring into his skin. Paintings of people he’d rather not think about. Paintings he should remove, but can’t. 

Down the steps and through the door. A night sky greeted him, shining with stars and embers still left floating from all the fires of war. It reminded him how little time had passed between now and then. Schlatt huffed, and turned to the right, ignoring the pit of anxiety that bubbled in his chest. This was worth it.

Underneath Manburg sat the portal to the Hub, a room linking to other servers, realms, and singleplayer worlds. Schlatt hadn’t used it since he got here, too caught up in the world of the DreamSMP to go back. To be honest, he didn’t have anywhere better to go. He didn’t play the Championships like other people on the server, nor did he play any other competitive games. Not anymore anyway. He had no singleplayer worlds that were worth looking at. Old challenge worlds were only painful. The only other place he could visit was… 

Well, he sure could use a breather. It had been a long time. 

Schlatt stepped through the light blue portal, humming and closing his eyes, an unfamiliar tranquillity washing over him in waves. It sparkled around him, transporting his body to the Hub with a low rumbling noise. Safe. Hm. He’d forgotten what that felt like.

_ And I can still hear his laughter and I can still hear his song _

_ The man's too big, the man's too strong _

When he opened his eyes, he was met with a small, dark room with several portals on the walls. Directly in front of him were labelled portals to public servers, buzzing static with activity and use. He could imagine himself, younger and yet to lose his edge, running into one of these portals, ready to compete in anything from fights to the death to button-hunts. Sometimes, he even won. Those were days he could smile for.

To his left was a blank wall with just one portal on it, unusual for anyone, and he deliberately avoided it, old memories stirred up as gentle piano music drifted in the air around it. No reason to go back there. He didn’t have time to think about it. 

On the right were private servers. They glowed when he got closer. One of them—old and unravelled and modded—was closed-off by a barrier. A failed hardcore world he couldn’t return to. Passing it brought back thoughts of a simpler time, a strange forest, and a man with wings. It smelt like tea. The other portals were all open, but he only wanted one.

He stood in front of a softly pulsing wall, reading and re-reading its name over and over again, making sure he was getting it right. No point in visiting the wrong place. At some point, he realised his reading was a distraction at best. Oh.

Staring into the swirling light, anxious nausea shook him. His brain screamed at him to go back. Go back to the DreamSMP. Go back to playing the villain. He felt like he was going to throw up. What if it wasn’t like he remembered it? What if someone else was there? What if his peace was disturbed? Or the server was taken down while he was still in there? 

Ugh. Fuck it.

Within a blink, he stepped through. A strange, fuzzy sensation flowed up his veins, filling his head with static for a split second before going clear. And then he was there. 

_ Well I have tried to be meek and I have tried to be mild _

_ But I spat like a woman and I sulked like a child _

When he opened his eyes, he almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Right in front of his face was a giant golden ‘S’, glinting in the light of a red sunrise. Of course, of all the things to greet him, it had to be this. A monument to his vanity. A ‘welcome home’. His goddamn scam business. He’d forgotten all about it, but now a flush of nostalgia was starting to take hold, mocking, but not quite malicious. Maybe he should have visited the singleplayer world instead.

Walking through Spawn City in the heat of a slowly rising sun was not how he expected to spend this day, but here he was. Countless buildings passed him, each one holding memories. Both his own and of those who built them. So many people made their mark on this place, and no one even remembered, no one even cared. They all moved on.

Seeing the server empty like this, collecting dust, sent shivers of bleak loneliness down his spine. His footsteps echoed out as he made his way past shops and restaurants and projects. Like a liminal space, somewhere that should be bustling with life, dead and quiet and yet surviving still in the afterglow of the past. 

He could almost hear the laughter, feel the jokes on the tip of his tongue. The click of a button, the splash of water, the not-angry shout of a friend getting screwed over by his cons. Playful, never serious. All ending in tired group stargazing sessions on the roof of some tall structure, or the middle of the sea, or something. 

_ I have lived behind walls, that have made me alone _

_ Striven for peace, which I never have known _

It all reminded him so much of the DreamSMP. A stone and wood path, nicer, in his opinion, than the basic wooden one. Signs and buildings and messy half-ideas. Cafes, houses, people, all the same. And one day, DreamSMP would end up like this, too, barren and forgotten with only people like Schlatt to remember. And that… he didn’t want to think about that anymore.

A fond smile found itself on his face when he reached the doors of ‘THE’ (or, the theatre) its open, empty hall threatening to lure him inside. The stage beckoned to him, a single, unplugged microphone standing there, a memento. 

Another time, maybe.

It’s funny, how he didn’t realise he was in Fallen Kingdom until he got to the steps leading up to the throne room. As if his body was moving on auto-pilot. Through vast fields of wheat, avoiding rivers, through the little town, then onto the stone brick path. Mountains surrounded him, towering above. Schlatt wondered if they got bored, watching nothing for so long, waiting for something interesting, only to get an eternity like this.

_ And I can still hear his laughter and I can still hear his song _

_ The man's too big, the man's too strong _

Without warning, a sound came from inside the throne room, causing him to turn towards it. Like metal against stone. It could have been an animal since the doors were wide open. Maybe a sheep, or a chicken, making use of the deserted space. Schlatt understood that. It was shelter, after all. 

But then there was another sound. A very human, very familiar sound. A grunt, a cough, and a whispered curse. Schlatt’s heart stopped, nausea from before coming back with force. And then he was running. Up the steps, up and up, the fastest he’d run for months. 

By the time he reached the throne room, he was gasping for breath. He hadn’t realised how desperate he was to see someone, anyone, in this place. To see someone who didn’t hate his guts. And wasn’t that sad? He was so happy to see a familiar figure, back turned, kicking an old ender chest. 

“Carson.” The name got caught in his throat, but it was enough to alert the man before him. Carson spun around, a look of surprise, but not fear, on his face. Schlatt grinned, still winded, as he leant on the doorframe for support. There they were, two old friends, in a world they built together.

Carson smiled, a simple but heart-warming thing. “Oh, Schlatt. Hey. You look older.” Immediately, he fell into place, light-hearted jab squashing any tension between them flat. Schlatt rolled his eyes, attempting to not look jaded as he did so.   


“You look the same. Hit double digits yet?” The question made Carson laugh, and boy had Schlatt forgotten how contagious that could be. He did feel a little self-conscious in front of his friend, his dishevelled appearance being carefully ignored. Carson definitely wouldn’t have expected him to end up like this. And perhaps it was paranoia, but Schlatt swore he could see a glint of pity in his eyes.   
  
A half-wheeze broke him from his thoughts. “Pfft. Yeah. I’m older than you, remember?” Schlatt did not remember, nor did he want to. “What’re you doing here?”

And just how is he supposed to answer that? ‘Oh, you know, I fear murder everywhere I go on the DreamSMP server, so I came here to be sad and pretend it’s still the past’? Yeah, that wouldn’t fly. 

“Oh, I was in the neighbourhood.” A lie already? He must be getting good at this. 

Schlatt was lucky Carson knew him well. “Sure.” Sarcastic, knowing, but not pushy. Carson wasn’t an idiot. He could see that his friend hadn’t been sleeping, he could see the twitch in his hands, he could see the unravelling of a once-strong man. And he knew anxiety when he saw it. But he said nothing more.

_ Well the sun rose on the courtyard and they all did hear him say _

_ You always was a judas but I got you anyway _

An easy smile crossed Schlatt’s features. “What about you?” Carson shrugged, reaching into the ender chest and pulling out a stone sword. That made Schlatt nervous, but irrationally so, left-over worries from his time as the most hated man alive.   
  
“Got bored. I’m escaping Josh. He wants me to be productive.” And there it was, the namedrop. See, Schlatt had a theory that follows as this: once a person gets bored of you, they’ll mention another, better friend to remind themselves that there’s still hope for their social life yet. This, of course, was bullshit, but that didn’t stop him believing it. 

Eager to change the subject, Schlatt tapped his hand against the stone doorframe. It let out a satisfying sound. “Y’know, I wanna bring some of the old gang back here, maybe some new people too. We could get Wilbur to sing at the theatre. Like old times?” The idea was random, but not unanticipated. It could be something nice.    
  
Carson faltered. “Oh,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I was gonna shut this place down.” Well, isn’t that just peaches and cream? Schlatt froze, his shoulders tensing. 

“Oh.” There wasn’t much else to say.

_ You may have got your silver but I swear upon my life _

_ Your sister gave me diamonds and I gave them to your wife _

“You can have it, though. Whatever.” Carson pressed a few buttons on the communication device on his wrist. “There, the moderator privileges are yours.” The watch in Schlatt’s pocket buzzed, indicating that the message had been received. He stood, silent, for a second, then nodded.

“Thanks.” It felt like a big deal. Moderator privileges. He could shut down the server whenever he wanted. But Carson had handed it over like it was nothing. Like this place didn’t matter anymore. And that filled Schlatt with an overwhelming sadness that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.   
  
The watch on Carson’s wrist lit up, and a small grin cracked on his face. “That’s Josh. I gotta go, he says I should sleep.” Their meeting was over already?    
  
Schlatt tried to think of something to say. Something to make his friend stay by his side. Something to make him care about this world again. “Right. Uh—”

“Nice seein’ you again, man! We’ll talk later, okay?” Carson cut him off. The cheer hadn’t gone from his voice, seeming oblivious to the internal battle raging inside Schlatt right now. And that could be the case.

The man walked past Schlatt and down the castle steps, vanishing out of sight as quickly as he arrived. A few minutes later, Schlatt heard a ‘pop’ sound, indicating that Carson had gone back to the Hub. Back to his own world. Back to his friends. Without Schlatt. 

But that wasn’t Carson’s fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

The walk back to the Hub was lonelier than the walk to Fallen Kingdom, somehow. Schlatt avoided looking at the theatre again, avoided reading the signs, avoided thinking about the stargazing nights or talent shows. Instead, he let his mind wander to other things. Floods that took up tiny pieces of land and everything he could see. Burning lava pools that grew within minutes. Invisible islands suspended in the air. He wasn’t sure which set of memories was more painful.

_ Oh father please help me for I have done wrong _

When he reached the Hub, he looked around at the server portals. None of them belonged to him. In fact, only one world belonged to him. Soft music played, and he looked at it for a long time, pondering what to do. In his head, he could almost picture the place. Shitty, dirt-based builds, signs that made no sense, and a railway covering the entire map. He wanted to go back. To escape.

But that wouldn’t fix anything, would it? That wouldn’t fix the fact that everyone on the DreamSMP was out to get him. That wouldn’t change the fact that his friends were all moving on without him. That wouldn’t change the fact that he felt so damn alone he almost wished Carson deleted the server while he was still there, erasing him completely.

No. He could bask in pointless nostalgia all he wanted. It wouldn’t help him. But he knew what might. 

He fished the communication device from his pocket, grimacing as he turned it on and got hit with a wall of messages. Some were old and some were new, ranging from simple ‘hello’s to vague threats. But that didn’t matter. He scrolled down, flicking through options until he found what he was looking for.

A smile ghosted his face. This… wouldn’t fix things. Not on its own. However, he was still a businessman. And if there was one thing he knew, it was how to get back on his feet. His hand hovered above the button, and then he pressed it.

_ *Create New World* _

_ The man's too big, the man's too strong _

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! They're super motivating! xoxo have a great day!
> 
> \- ren


End file.
